stitches
by izfan26
Summary: Wheatley is hurt and GLADoS stitches his face back together. oneshot, WHEATLEYxCHELL, Human robots (Except that damn turret, so cute)


_**THIS. IS. A. ONESHOT!**_

_**I SUPPORT WHEATLEYxCHELL, WHEATLEY AND GLADOS ARE JUST FRIENDS. AND HUMAN.**_

_**ENJOY!**_

_I forgot about this, _thought Wheatley, _being human does _bloody _hurt._

He felt blood streaming down his face, soaking into is white button-up shirt, turning his pale blue tie a strange shade of red. Almost purple, but not quite. His tousled red hair was a bird's nest, his khaki trousers torn and dirty, and his black loafers caused loud, screeching noises against the metal floor to his apartment.

"Are you still there?" said the bloody turret he had in tow. The turret responsible for the long, deep gash across his cheek.

"Oh, shut up." He told it.

"I don't blame you."

He groaned and entered the door he and Chell shared. Occasionally, her mother, GLADoS was there, but he prayed she wasn't today.

Of course, she was.

"I told you not to go to back to those old testing tracks."

"I thought I heard something." He muttered. "Thought someone had found us here. Ran into this bloke." He nudged the turret with his foot. He slumped down in a chair and pressed a corner of his shirt into his cheek. GLADoS handed him a bottle of water and he drank thirstily.

"Doesn't matter," she sneered. She grabbed him by the chin and held on tightly. Her long manicured nails probed the wound. Wheatley mewled helplessly. "Sorry," said GLADoS, not sounding at all sorry. "Anywho, let's get you to the lab."

"Why?" he asked, using his shirt to sop up the blood.

"So I can stitch you up, moron."

"_**I AM NO**_-"

"Shh. Conserve your energy. You have a LOT of screaming to do." She scooped him up bridal-style, and carried him to her lair. Wheatley's blood poured onto her steely-gray skin and black-and-white dress. Her white hair fell to her jawline, and that came to rest on his head. There was no noise except for the _clik-clak-clik-clak-clik-clak _of her high-heeled black boots.

The door to her old chamber swung open. Her old body had been turned into a surgical spotlight, and it sat above an operating table. The cupboards were stuffed with gauze, medicine, syringes, and latex gloves. GLADoS set down Wheatley on the table and turned her back to him and set to the task of cleaning.

When she returned, her hands were covered in latex gloves, and a syringe was filled and ready for action. She clamped his right eye and right corner of his mouth still and open so he didn't blink and his mouth didn't twitch and mess up the stitches. "Hold still," she ordered, grabbing his face firmly and bringing the needle to his chin. "Ready?"

Wheatley swallowed hard, and forced out the word, "yes."

"Good," she said. "This will only hurt... A lot."

For once GLADoS hadn't lied to him. It didn't take long and didn't hurt much. At least not compared to what was about to happen. The hand gripping his face didn't relax, but her free one put down the syringe, and picked up a threaded needle. Wheatley immediately felt belated fear and pushed her off. Jumping to his feet, he immediately grabbed the empty syringe, lunged at his ex-enemy, and held the needle to her jugular vein.

She coughed slightly. "Wheatley, I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm sorry, I know this is going to hurt more than the shot, but I need to stop the blood and close the wound. It'll only take a few hours, and then it will only hurt for a month."

Immediately, the gentleness and kindness in her voice snapped Wheatley back to reality. He dropped the needle, and it shattered on the floor. "GLADoS- Caroline, I-"

"It's OK. I know. You were scared. But now I need you to lie down and let me stitch you up. Alright?"

Wheatley obliged. GLADoS pulled two heavy webbed straps over Wheatley's pale, tall, skinny figure. He understood. The Killing Itch had been evident in both of them, but they kept those down by killing turrets and old, irreparable cores.

Mostly.

"Focus on my face," she suggested. "Not my hands. It'll be easier. This will only hurt… a lot."

He tried. But at the first sensation of the needle pulling at his skin, he closed his eye tightly and ground his teeth. This really sucked. He wasn't afraid of needles (sometimes) but that didn't mean they didn't hurt. He tried to squirm free, but she gripped tightly. His hands reached for something to grab onto through the webbing of the restraints. They found the hem of her cocktail dress. Neither of them commented on this.

For the next three hours, GLADoS stitched. How Wheatley managed not to scream, she never understood. She would've broken down by now.

Finally, it was over. She smeared antibacterial gel over the neat row of stitches. It stung, and Wheatley, now free of the restraints, gripped her hand involuntarily. After she finished rubbing in the gel, they stayed intertwined for a while. She dropped his hand and peeled off the gloves. "ahm… it's over. All done."

"Good work."

"You too."

They both started to saunter back to the apartment, and when they arrived, Chell was making tea in the kitchen. She rushed over and hugged her mother, then kissed Wheatley's lips. He winced slightly due to her hand on the fresh stitches. "Chell… hurts…" she pulled away, smiling shyly. "Busy day?" she mouthed.

"About normal." Replied Caroline, as GLADoS switched to her brain. "Any chance of that tea?"


End file.
